The Nature of Cages
by AnaWolf
Summary: She should have seen the signs, but he had a talent to mask his emotions, much like she did. This is one of the few things she knows nowadays. And she has time to think... Too much time, perhaps, to think about everything...


**The Nature of Cages**

 _Sparkling Angel  
Couldn't see  
Your dark intentions  
Your feelings for me  
_~Angels - _Within Temptation~_

There are few things she knows nowadays.

And so much more that she doesn't know. Where she is would be a good example for starters.

Correction of the statement: She is able to guess easily certain data of her localization, per say, but the words fail her when there is an attempt to _name_ the specific environment.

The space where she remains now is restricted. Thick bars of metal face her, creating a limit as much as details of her old life have done one day, even if in a more metaphorical way, but equally powerful. A lifetime ago there was the knowledge that a false step, one impulsive action and the rumors would find birth just like the tabloids would fall on her life vultures over an animal even when it still has some life, but is too weak to react when they start to tear the meat apart slowly from the pus-filled wound.

It was a price, another side of the so-called glamorous life and Zakuro had accepted it.

Now, it is physical. Bars of metal.

Therefore, it is a cage.

But inside those limits, there are luxuries that are not associated with the term. A cage wouldn't have a bed, a dressing table, a shelf with books… Much less a small wall that divides a bathroom that is just as well-kept, the shelf inside the shower filled with shampoos and soaps.

Therefore, it is a room.

But a room wouldn't have bars from the floor to the ceiling. It wouldn't be in the center of a larger room (which says a lot, her "area" has a size a bit bigger than a regular living room) that lacks windows. It could be a bizarre exhibition of a zoo, if there were people around, watching, commenting and taking photos.

Many of her _own_ things are here, what seems to have the intention of offering some sort of illusion of twisted comfort and being _home._ The effect _is_ successful from time to time, but not frequently.

The first time she examined the elements around it wasn't hard to conclude they belonged to her: One of the books still had the bookmark in the exact point of before and the autograph with her name, the shampoo bottle had a part of the label tore off and was half-empty.

And of course, there is the matter of the scent. It is hard to fool the senses of an animal and she has long ago learned to accept hers.

She tries to avoid thinking about _him_ going to her home, searching among her belongings and placing them here with the meticulous care he obviously had. Going to her bathroom and seeing the sort of products she preferred, the books she enjoyed and the songs she liked… She doesn't know exactly the central point of such feeling, if it lies in the invasion, him knowing details about her when he shouldn't have rights of, or all of it and more.

They're here anyway: Her books, her notebooks with songs she writes and even jewelry (which is useless and almost funny, it isn't as if she is going to doll herself up to a party anytime soon and her blood freezes in the moments she realizes there _is_ some relief in this. She does love her career, but God knows how the negative side of it can be a burden). Curiously, thought those are her things, when she touches any of it the object becomes cold and distant, no longer fitting in her hands and there is no homely sense to be found in them anymore.

Perhaps they truly belong to someone other person and time and the sensation can't be brought here. Perhaps, perhaps… Who knows?

She doesn't know what day is today, that's for sure, nor when was the last time she saw the sun or the moon (she knows she misses them, as unsure as she is if they are as bright as they appear in her memories). The lights, nestled in the ceiling and protected by glass can be turned on by themselves or by pulling a small rope that is at the side of her bed. It is practical, but it doesn't help when she wants to know the time and, without being able to see the sun and the moon crossing the skies, she has no tools to check the passing of time.

There were attempts to give time a meaning once again with bases in when her food is brought, what has proved to be as useless after some meals and made her give up.

Maybe it is better like this. It isn't as if knowing for how long she has been here would be of much value or change anything, if you think about it.

No, but she concludes she would like to _know_ anyway.

Time, time… Zakuro has time to think. More than what she would have liked.

They don't mock her, as one might expect from one's captors. Kishu and Taruto aren't seen with much frequency, but there are times when they are the ones who bring her food, leaving the dish in the tray that can be pulled inside and out by a cord, not much different from what can be found in the cell of a particularly dangerous criminal.

There isn't much dialogue between them, either. There are times when Kishu gives her a sort of smile that she doesn't comprehend (though what the gesture reveals, like a veil being pulled, is too dark for this to be the fitting name) and Taruto seems to consider her in the same way he would if his older brother had chosen any other creature as pet.

The idea that the other girls might be in here also preys her mind often. And while Zakuro tries to convince herself that Taruto is just a child and still has some innocence, despite being in a war, she can't be sure. He definitely has consideration for Purin and this may be enough. Pure feelings can easily give birth to dark actions. Regarding Kishu… Sadly, Zakuro is aware that this sounds exactly like something he would do.

If he hasn't already.

Her questions about her friends, however, always remain without answer no matter if directed at those two or Pai himself.

Pai… The real reason why she is here. Except for his younger brothers, he is the only being with whom she has contact. And there isn't a way to have answers he doesn't wish to give, no clue or indication in his eyes or behavior, for the alien is as good in masking his emotions as she is, something the woman found out far too late when she woke up in this place with the male watching her from beyond the bars.

He is the one who she sees the most since then, as it couldn't be any other way… After all, if she is a pet, he is the owner. If she is prisoner, he is kidnapper. If she is a guest, he is the host.

But even those terms are too slippery, even in the mind, and the meanings get mixed until you can't separate them. They aren't completely pure and when she tries to apply them to her situation, Zakuro only gets confusion in turn.

Are there terms that truly, _truly_ describe with accuracy what is happening here, what the metal bars see? She doesn't know either. And like so many things, the importance is lost alongside with the notion of time, while the answers remain unreachable.

Maybe she just wants to _know_ something beyond what she knows now and hope that it is a better knowledge, that it can bring her some comfort, as insane as it sounds.

Well, after all, this is another topic to be discussed then. What _is_ he? She would have been killed, not kept in a (cage? Room?) if it wasn't for his… His… Decision? Choice? Lov… And what this makes of _him?_ And does it make of _her?_

The natural curiosity, the attempt of comprehending her situation completely, pushes Zakuro to still try solving it and applying terms. The result is always confusion and sick-like feeling, as if the thoughts are sending waves to the rest of the body, making the stomach turn to force an end to it.

He takes _care_ of her, that's for sure. While the others (when they come) just leave the food or watch her for an instant before going away, Pai is the exception.

Is he the one who enters, sits nearby, talks to her and sometimes brushes her hair. There has been resistance of her part, but her attempts at fighting back have only met defeat. In one occasion it had seemed that escape was even possible, however his brothers were there at once and Zakuro couldn't even leave the room (though going beyond the bars was a source of satisfaction in some level).

Choosing battles is important: To have him brushing her hair can hardly be considered worthy of much fuss.

And it isn't as if anyone has ever done this for her. Her mother certainly never had the time for this. The maids of her childhood, the stylists and make-up people have (had) hands that were cold in their objectives, examining the purple threads as objects and that was what she was: A doll.

Zakuro tries to not feel the gentleness of his strong hands and pushes away the seed of warmth with despair, begging for the coldness in her mind as much as something deep in her isn't able to reject the sensation. Maybe she is tired after… Weeks? Months? Perhaps there isn't harm in searching some enjoyment of her own in such moments? Small comforts?

Her loneliness sometimes reaches a critical point and she longs for Pai's presence. And when he comes, the yearning turns back to the loneliness. It is an eternal cycle without escape and she knows it. She knows the barrier between being alone and lonely, having had much of both in her life and now there is a deep knowledge of their nature, of someone pulling the line of a complex tapestry, studying the essence of the work and how is has been made.

The fact that the moments when she wants his companionship merely _exist_ works only to create a bitter taste in all of her body. Yet, it isn't enough to stop them, another cycle which way out and solution Zakuro can't find.

She hates this. But even the hates becomes tiring.

So, she prefers the absolute nothing. And this also becomes tiring.

There are never touches that go beyond the limits that shouldn't _need_ to be spoken and, for this, she thanks God (in the silence, sometimes she allows herself to wonder if such filthy actions even exist in his planet). But even so, the kisses he lays on her shoulders, neck and hands, the fingers that run among her hair and caress her face are enough to cut and his gentleness burns like ice. She still feels the wounds and wonders if it wouldn't be better if he actually cut her, to have her blood running.

There isn't how to forget or deceive herself about him. Zakuro simply should have watched him more, took notice of the subtle signs.

While Pai is nowhere as impulsive as Kishu (or, more appropriately, has a better self control) she understands how she isn't sure of his limits and when his gaze, in which she had been used to think there was only iciness, warms up in the unreadable mask of his facial muscles Zakuro realizes she doesn't mind if she never finds out.

Does anyone, besides the three aliens, beyond this place, even knows that she is _still alive?_

Well, still _breathing_ at least… She doesn't think she remembers how it feels to be truly alive and certainly she doesn't feel as such. Her bones bother her, the blood no longer feels warm or lively. Her insides are reduced to a suffocating desert.

To the winner the spoils of war, as it is said. Following this line of thought, perhaps the battles are just a kind of formality. They have already won, humanity has already lost. No alternative, no discussion. The mews were just involved in a slow process, like the showing of how to solve an equation whose result is already known. And unchangeable.

Another thing which she doesn't think much about because there isn't a way to fight the logic.

Hope is one of the strongest emotions of any being. It may be connected to the survival instinct, moving the body and mind towards the fight with no regard about the odds, however Zakuro isn't sure that hope would be more than an illusion now. To her and her friends just as much as to… Well, everything else. In her case, particularly speaking, it isn't as if her friends ( _her only friends, her stars in a life that has been too dark, too empty of trust for her to allow people hold her heart)_ can reach her here. And the idea of a _police_ rescue is so laughable that doesn't deserve a thought.

And escaping on her own has proved to be impossible.

In a wider picture, a greater scheme than the beating of her own heart, the idea of all this may be so too. And Zakuro's mind, without distractions, goes back to previous thoughts in which it didn't deepen before. Perhaps "war" is too much of high term. Maybe it doesn't deserve even the term "extermination": Five teenagers without training, merely with some abilities (somehow) acquired through the fusion with animal DNA against aliens who were able to travel in space even before the existence of the creatures that would one day start the slow evolutionary process resulting in the human race? Aliens who had trained their whole lives for this? There was a reason why only three had been sent to the invasion and why, despite the supposed numerical advantage, the battles had lasted for more than a year by now.

Maybe it is all useless.

They certainly seem to think so, by what she can get. It what comes more from memories and few details she tries to notice in her current predicament than anything else, since Pai doesn't talk much about the subject. If this is born of his despise towards humanity or something related to her (to isolate her further of what life once meant, to not upset her, to torture her), Zakuro doesn't know.

There are few things she knows nowadays, after all.

Among what is offered to her, she can do whatever she pleases here. This has been said and proved. This place is _hers,_ according to Pai. But the false freedom doesn't mean much when there is nothing to be truly done and while he says she can ask for anything (besides freedom, no need to say), Zakuro has nothing _to wish_ for.

The only thing she has ever asked, breaking her own vow of never doing so, was… For stars.

She is human and wolf, after all. Two beings in one. She has always loved the night sky and used to watch it from her window since she was a child, finding more warmth in the distant lights twinkling in the darkness than in her own home. And wolves aren't associated with the night for nothing.

Maybe she thought there would be some sort of help in this or just couldn't take it anymore or any other reason she hasn't found out yet. Whatever it was that pushed her, the girl just ended up asking one time without reflecting about it.

Pai didn't look at all surprised.

He couldn't bring the sky to her, but gave her stars in the way he could. Small ornaments of something that resembles silver and crystal, so delicate that they could break with a mere gaze. The crystal ones hold a mist made of pearls and the silver ones are like frozen tears. Decorations of his planet, no doubt, and when she received them Zakuro allowed herself to break contact with reality and the implications of those gifts to get lost in the beauty.

After he gave her a ladder (no risk on it, it isn't as if she could hang herself when there is no way to tie any fabric in the ceiling), she hung the stars with the care of a painter.

When the bites of the coldness inside are too intense, when everything is excessive, the bed becoming a coffin and she can almost hear fragments breaking in her mind, at least she has those stars to look upon.

Pai also left a huge screen beyond the bars and it often shows a blue that waves to black, adorned by spirals of colors Zakuro has never seen and unknown constellations that are alive somewhere, moons of silvery lilac with stars dancing around. What would have fascinated her before now makes her turn her back to the screen, closing her eyes as she fights to ignore everything around. Because there is a feeling that through this, Pai is simply making a statement of what he can show her. And even if this isn't the case, somehow the effect is of a thousand needles in her eyes.

There are few things she knows nowadays.

She knows he will eventually release her. He promised to do so when it is all over and the land covered by human corpses, flowers blooming among the rotting flesh and fed by blood. Then he will release her and they will live together in a hellish paradise, created from the death of the race she and her friends have sworn to protect.

He spoke of it with the gentleness of a bridegroom about his wedding day.

She knows she fears this day.

The day when he will come, open the door and instead of entering, he will tell her to come out. Even if there are moments something in her almost takes satisfaction from the idea of _leaving_ someday, it ends up making her nestle herself in the bed, wanting to hide from everything and forget it all.

There are few things she knows nowadays, after all.

But she knows she wishes she was dead.

* * *

 **Like always, reviews and constructive criticism mean everything to me! And since English isn't my first language, if there is any mistake, please tell me.**


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